Grounding
by Na'hiel
Summary: After a terrible tragedy at the end of the Triwizard Tournament resulting in the death of the Dark Lord and most of his followers, Harry Potter's magic is unstable and needs to be grounded. In the end, the only anchor he's willing to consider is Severus Snape. SS/HP, other secondary pairings possible.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Warning: Referenced past non-con, torture.**

Grounding

Chapter One-

It had been an accident.

He hadn't intended on it happening. She'd startled him, that was all. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. He'd been through...

_...strong cold hands touching him hurting him using him he didn't want no please no more he couldn't..._

...he'd been through a rough time. But that wasn't... it wasn't an excuse for what he'd done.

"My dear boy, it wasn't your fault," the Headmaster said gently. He patted Harry's shoulder, the gesture meant to be soothing.

Harry reacted; he couldn't help it. He jerked away and whirled, his wand raising to point unwaveringly between the Headmaster's eyes. A fierce, vicious wind kicked up, whipping at his hair, his robes, the Headmaster. Harry heard a low, vicious snarl and realized that it was coming from his own lips.

His wand fell from suddenly nerveless fingers with a clatter and the wind died to nothing. Harry fell to his knees, dropped his head, and whispered a broken, "Sorry. So, so sorry."

It didn't matter how many times he said it. It didn't matter how much he meant it. It didn't matter that it wasn't anybody's fault. He'd lost control of his magic and because of him, Ginny would never...

"Harry, child, please get up," the Headmaster implored.

But Harry couldn't stand, couldn't bring himself to. If Ginny would never stand again, how could Harry?

ooOOooOOoo

If his magic had lashed out only at Ginny and then stopped, things might have been okay.

The Weasleys understood, after all. They didn't blame Harry for Ginny's paralysis. Ron had comforted him after the incident, and Ginny had called him into her room at St. Mungo's to tell him that it was okay. The Weasleys understood. They all knew...

_… of the high cold mocking laughter and the monster tearing into him hurting him making him bleed and the hatred that rose up and saved him, saved them..._

They all knew that Harry had lived through a nightmare. And they loved him enough for it not to matter.

Unfortunately, it wasn't just Ginny. And the next time it happened, Harry's magic didn't stop at simple paralysis.

ooOOooOOoo

The Ministry of Magic had assigned one Dolores Umbridge to work as the Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts.

She hated Harry on sight. It wasn't surprising; the Ministry had attempted to bring Harry to trial after...

_...wind whipping around him and the monsters all falling and screaming and begging as Harry had screamed and begged but Harry was beyond mercy beyond caring no not Professor no he hadn't no Harry wouldn't let him be killed like this no..._

The Ministry had attempted to bring Harry to trial after he'd finally killed Voldemort and all of his Death Eaters in one fell swoop after his two-month long ordeal. The Headmaster had gone to bat for him and Harry had, in the end, not been tried. The Headmaster had even managed to get his godfather declared innocent. Some good had come out of the mess. But the Ministry had hated him ever since.

So it was no surprise that Umbridge came in with a chip on her shoulder, and Harry was almost expecting the detention she assigned him the moment he raised his hand to answer one of her questions. That it was assigned for phrasing his answer improperly was something that Harry didn't care about. That it was assigned at all was something that Harry didn't care about.

He showed up ten minutes beforehand, not wanting to give her an excuse to assign another. It didn't matter, not really, nothing much did, but he didn't want to spend all of his evenings with her. When she set him to work writing lines, he didn't understand why she was smirking.

He began the first line, I must not play the hero, only to feel a sharp pricking in his hand. He wrote the second line, and the third, and the pain in his hand got worse and worse. Harry's magic was starting to react, even though Harry had no idea what was going on.

A wind was kicking up, whipping the parchment from under Harry's hand and flinging it across the room. "Professor, I don't know that I can keep writing," Harry whispered.

"Write your next line, boy!" she snapped, and slammed his paper back down in front of him.

Trembling, Harry lifted the quill and began the next line. This time, blood began to drip from his hand as a shallow cut appeared in the form of the letter 'I'.

Harry's magic went mad. He could feel the anger, the hatred, the fury rising within him, burning and vicious and terrifying all at once. His magic slammed around the room, howling and angry and looking for a way to hurt whoever had made Harry hurt.

His magic found its target.

Professor Umbridge would not stand up once the wind died down, no matter how many times Harry shook her. Her body was cold, her gaze vacant.

Harry sat by her corpse until morning when Professor McGonagall found them.

ooOOooOOoo

When Harry came back to himself, there was shouting all around him.

"That boy is a menace, Albus! I'll see him locked away for what he's done!" a familiar voice was shouting. Harry wondered vaguely who it was, because he knew the voice but didn't know the voice.

"If the boy goes to trial, Cornelius, the reason that his magic felt compelled to defend him would come to light," the Headmaster responded. "And we wouldn't want that, would we?"

"Are you blackmailing me? I didn't know the woman had a Blood Quill!" the Minister sputtered in response.

"Of course you didn't. But there are those out there that would argue that you should have known," the Headmaster said mildly.

The Minister let out a huffing sigh. "Something must be done about the boy, Albus. He's killed someone! Several someones in fact, if we're counting that unfortunate incident over the summer! The boy's a bloody menace!"

"The boy is traumatized, Cornelius! Harry has no control over his magic, not when he feels threatened. Sending the child to Azkaban is only going to make this worse! He needs help, not more hurt."

Harry let out a small, broken noise. He hadn't realized that Azkaban was on the table. Dementors forced a person to relive their worst memories. Reliving...

_...vicious hands tearing at his robes mocking words laughing at his body betraying him no stop please don't..._

...he already relived it every night in his dreams. He couldn't imagine doing so during the day as well. He didn't think he'd stay sane. But then, he wasn't entirely sure that he was sane even now.

"Then what exactly do you suggest we do with him, Albus? Because we can't keep doing nothing. I'll admit that Dolores may have had this coming to her with the use of the Blood Quill. One could even argue in Potter's favor when it comes to those murdered in You-Know-Who's presence over the summer. But Miss Weasley certainly didn't deserve to be paralyzed. And what happens the next time somebody startles him that doesn't deserve to be mortally wounded for the rest of their life? Will you just keep covering for the boy?"

Harry heard the Headmaster let out a pained sigh and hated himself in that moment for adding more of a burden to the man's shoulders. He was such a good Headmaster, he didn't need to have somebody like Harry to deal with.

"Of course not, Cornelius," the Headmaster was saying soothingly. "I've already thought of a way to bring Harry's magic under control. We're going to have to withdraw him from classes for the year, but perhaps we should have done that anyway."

"You see to it that this solution you've got in mind works, you hear, Albus? One more incident and I'll throw everything we've got at him."

There was the sound of somebody leaving the infirmary, for that was doubtlessly where they were, and then Harry heard the chair by his bed creek.

"Oh, my dear child, I hope that you'll be able to go through with what must be done," the Headmaster murmured.

Harry didn't want to know, so he pretended to be asleep.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry's hands were shaking in his lap.

He'd heard the Headmaster talking about it with the Minister but he hadn't realized... It was a good thing, probably. He was too easily startled to be anything less than a danger to those around him. He'd been very surprised that the Headmaster was even willing to have him return to the school only two weeks after...

_...the sting of the knife on his cheek the bite of the whip on his back scars carved to match the one on his face the ones on his soul..._

...after his ordeal.

"You have to understand that we're not angry with you, Harry, and that this absolutely isn't a punishment," the Headmaster was saying gently. "We're not even going to send you away from Hogwarts. We know how you love it here. We're just trying to give you some time to yourself to recover."

Harry's hands were still shaking as he nodded. "You mentioned a ritual to the Minister," he whispered. He didn't want to know, but if it could help him... he had to. He wasn't sure how long he could live like this.

"I wasn't aware that you heard that, Harry," the Headmaster said, surprised. "We thought you to be asleep."

Harry laughed, a dry and mirthless thing. "You think I sleep when somebody gets near me, Headmaster? I don't. I can't. My magic wakes me before they can get within ten feet."

The office was silent while the Headmaster digested this new information. "I wasn't aware that it was as bad as all that," the Headmaster finally murmured. When Harry dared to look up, the elderly man's gaze had lost its customary twinkle.

Harry simply shrugged in response. It was what it was. He'd dealt with it since he'd arrived back at Hogwarts less than a month ago. There was nothing more really to say about it.

Fawkes flew to him, then, with a mournful little trill. Harry let himself bury his fingers in the beautiful phoenix's feathers and savored one of the first gentle contacts he'd had in months. His magic did not tend to distinguish between a kind touch and a cruel one, not any longer. Fawkes began to sing for him, softly and gently and sweetly, and Harry felt himself relaxing for the first time since...

_...the cup taken together the wrenching of a Portkey Voldemort rising Harry's blood in the cauldron death despair pain hatred fury burning hot and righteous and..._

...since Voldemort had risen.

"The ritual, should we chose to use it, would serve to help ground you, my dear child. It would, ideally, stop your magic from responding so violently towards all others. There is, of course, a catch."

Harry had known there would be. Nothing good ever happened to him without there being some sort of catch involved in it. With his luck, it would be something awful like that the ritual would require one of his friends to lay down their life or some such nonsense.

"What sort of catch?" he asked, disinterested. The thought of a friend potentially dying for him was a terrifying one, but then, he couldn't imagine the Headmaster even considering that as an option.

"You would have to be married in an ancient ritual to a much older wizard or witch. The person chosen would have to have be powerful enough that they could serve to anchor you, which makes the candidate pool rather slim indeed," the Headmaster said softly, gently. "The marriage and resulting bond, even if we did find some other way to stabilize your magics later in life, would be permanent."

Harry's eyes fluttered shut as he considered the idea. Maybe it was Fawkes, singing so softly and keeping him so very relaxed. Maybe it was the fact that he was tired, so very tired, of the way that his magic treated everyone around him as hostile. Maybe it was the knowledge that he would never find a mate of his own after the way he'd been defiled. Maybe it was the pathetic wish for a real family after the disfunction of the one he'd been forced to live with for so long. Maybe it was any number of things, or all of them at once.

Whatever it was, he asked the Headmaster quietly, "Did you have anybody in particular in mind for the ritual?"

ooOOooOOoo

The list of names provided by the Headmaster was, while full of names, woefully short of people that Harry would actually consider as potential mates. Sirius had been listed, and Harry had little doubt that his godfather would have sacrificed anything for him, but Harry wasn't a homewrecker and Sirius and Remus were happy together. Bill and Charlie were on the list, but they were more older brothers than anything else, and Harry couldn't face the thought of marrying one of Ginny's brothers. Professor McGonagall's name was, surprisingly, listed, but Harry... she didn't trust Harry, hadn't in first year and didn't now, and Harry thought that trust was important, especially when he was as broken as he was. There was also a woman named Tonks listed, but he didn't know her. And how could he marry somebody he didn't know?

This lead to him standing, shaking, at the door of the one person on the list that he could possibly consider spending the rest of his life with. The one person that he'd never thought of asking for something like this.

It was arguably his worst idea in the history of bad ideas. Professor Snape had never been anything resembling kind to him, except for that one time when Harry had been so broken that a little bit of kindness had only broken him further. Harry was almost positive that the bonding wouldn't bring about a spontaneous personality change, either. The Professor was who he was, and that person hated Harry. But... despite the hatred, he'd always acted in Harry's best interest. He'd always protected Harry, even when...

_...gentle hands among the rough a kind voice telling him to relax that he's sorry that he wishes he could stop them begging for forgiveness in the softest of whispers with lips not even moving against his ear..._

...even when playing his role as a spy.

"Mr. Potter. Is there any particular reason that you're lurking outside of my door?" the Professor asked, jarring Harry from his reverie.

The Professor had opened the door and was watching Harry with an eyebrow raised.

"I... wanted to talk to you," Harry finally whispered, looking down and away. He couldn't bear to look at the Professor's face as he made his request. He didn't want to see the man's disdain.

"I would certainly hope that it was me you were looking for rather than, say, Professor Trelawney," the Professor answered dryly, the tone in his voice urging Harry to get on with it, whatever 'it' was.

Harry flushed. "I... your name was on the list the Headmaster gave me," he said in a rush, before he could lose his nerve. He flinched just after he said it, certain that a hex was coming his way at any moment. Surprisingly, his magic was entirely unresponsive to his fear.

Professor Snape's breath left him in a soft huff of displaced air. "I suppose you should come inside, then, to discuss the matter. If you're comfortable doing so. I'd rather not have my sitting room wrecked by the tornado that is your temper these days."

Harry looked up, unable to stop himself from doing so and unable to stop the smile from appearing on his face. "Professor, I never feel anything but safe with you," he said, and realized that it was true. The Professor always had his best interests at heart. Why shouldn't he feel safe with the man?

The Professor stared at him blankly for several moments, then stepped back and gestured for Harry to enter his room. As Harry did so, he accidentally brushed against the Professor.

Harry knew that he was making the right choice because his magic didn't even stir at the contact.

ooOOooOOoo

The child had to be mad.

What other explanation could there possibly be? Why would the child have come to him, to he who had already violated the boy once, to he who had made the boy's life a living hell for so very many years? What could the boy possibly be thinking?

It was clear that his two months under Voldemort's care had driven the boy quite mad.

"Professor, I never feel anything but safe with you," the boy whispered. He was so thin, so pale, and the shadows under his eyes looked like bruises, but when the boy looked up and smiled, Severus knew that he was lost. He'd never seen a more beautiful sight. Not even Lily...

He brushed the thought off before it could form and stepped wordlessly aside. He couldn't stop himself from doing so, and in stepping aside issued a wordless invitation to the beautiful broken boy, both to join him in his rooms and, more importantly, his life.

He had the feeling that the child would never leave it again.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry felt like he'd come home.

The Professor's sitting room was dark and warm and comfortable. There were stone walls covered in forested tapestries and a thick brown carpet that his shoes sank into. There was a massive couch off to one side of the room, a low wooden coffee table, and two overstuffed chairs just in front of a roaring fireplace.

Harry wasn't sure what it was, but he felt safe here. Comfortable. He could feel his magic release some of its tension and something in him relaxed almost entirely. It was a strange feeling, but one that he relished all the more for having not felt it in a very long time. What it was, he couldn't say, but he enjoyed it all the same.

"Take a seat, Mr. Potter," the Professor invited with a gesture at the two chairs.

Harry hesitated, then settled into one of the incredibly comfortable in appearance chairs. It was every bit as comfortable as it looked, too, and he relaxed into its overstuffed embrace. "Thank you, sir," he offered softly.

"Tea, Mr. Potter?" the Professor asked. There was a moment of silence and the Professor added, "Though perhaps something a bit stronger might be in order if we are truly going to discuss this."

"Tea would be nice," Harry finally said. He didn't want his mind muddled by alcohol, and he wasn't even sure he liked the taste to be perfectly honest. He'd never tried it. But something to drink would be nice, because it might help to take his mind off of how strange he felt in the Professor's sitting room. He was quite comfortable, and Harry thought that maybe he shouldn't be, which was what was leading to the strange feeling of disquiet. His magic was still completely at ease.

The Professor handed Harry a cup and saucer that looked like they'd seen better days. Harry liked the worn, slightly chipped set. The Professor obviously didn't throw things away just because they were a little dented. Harry could appreciate that in a... in a mate.

Harry took a sip of his tea and found it to be just to his liking, which made him smile shyly into the cup. Obviously the Professor knew him quite well indeed if he knew how Harry took his tea. Or there was an enchantment on the cup, which seemed far more likely.

"Mr. Potter," the Professor began, then stopped. He took a hurried sip of his own tea, which may or may not have been laced with something a bit stronger. "Harry," he said finally, awkwardly, as though it pained him to say the name rather than the surname, "are you quite certain that you wish to consider binding yourself to me for the duration of my life? There are other, far more suitable wizards and witches on that list."

Harry frowned into his teacup. "There are names on the list, yes, but I don't believe any of them to be more suitable than you. Why else would I be here?" he asked, and glanced hesitantly up to see if his answer had offended the man.

It hadn't. The Professor lowered his cup to the table between them with a shaking hand, instead, and said quietly, "I attended Hogwarts with your parents, Mr. Potter. Your mother was my best friend in our youth. I am, quite literally, old enough to be your father. I am so very far from suitable for you that I don't believe that I am even in the same realm."

Harry considered the Professor's words and, in the end, offered the man another hesitant smile. "You are the most suitable name on that list, Professor," he said quietly, but with great assurance.

ooOOooOOoo

What could Severus possibly say to that unshaking, unwavering faith? The child believed him to be the best option out of many names on that list, all of whom Severus would have counted as better than himself. What was he supposed to do with Harry looking at him with that shy, broken smile?

If the child believed him to be suitable, then who was he to say no? Perhaps this was to be his redemption for the atrocities he'd stood by and watched be committed against the boy before him. Perhaps he would spend the rest of his life making up for what he'd done. But looking at Harry right then, Severus could think of many worse ways to atone for his past mistakes.

"If you're certain, Harry," he said finally with a slight nod, "then I am amenable."

Harry's bright smile lit up the room. Severus only hoped that he wasn't making the worst mistake of Harry's life in saying yes.


End file.
